


Love Never Dies

by RiddlerChic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddlerChic/pseuds/RiddlerChic
Summary: John tore open the envelope, pulling out a small piece of paper.Sherlock had been taken by Moriarty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was for my friend on Quotev. We discussed this and I just kinda. Wrote. This. So here you go. ENJOY MY PRETTIES

                The dim lighting of the sidewalk right outside 221b was just enough for John to pull his keys out of his coat and unlock the door with little hassle. The doctor stepped into the flat, closing the door behind him with his foot.

                “Sherlock?” He called as he made his way up the stairs and to the seating area. He, unfortunately, got no answer. Perhaps Sherlock had gone out. Maybe he had another case to solve.

                John pushed open the door to the living area and let his eyes trail the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Well, except an envelope on Sherlock’s chair. John made his way over and picked it up carefully, eyeing the seal. He didn’t recognize it.

                John tore open the envelope, pulling out a small piece of paper. As he read through the contents of the letter, John’s wistful expression turned into one of terror. No, this couldn’t be happening!

                Oh, but it was. Sherlock had been taken by Moriarty. The bloody bastard. John dropped the letter once he was done. The last sentence of the letter was what really frightened him the most.

                _Time is ticking._

John's understanding of Moriarty was that he liked to play games. So this was obviously a game.

                John’s last thought before he left the flat was “Where the hell would he be?”

 

* * *

 

               

                John had never been good at finding clues like Sherlock had. But with the fate of his flatmate, and his best friend’s, life on the line, John found himself able to see the clues and piece them together as quickly as he would be able to stitch a bullet wound.

                Big Ben. All of the clues led to Big Ben.

                John understood as soon as he got there. Moriarty was standing in front of the building, Sherlock bound and gagged at his feet. John stared on in horror at the scene, noting that Sherlock didn’t seem too harmed.

                But John also knew the invisible wounds were the worst.

                “Doctor Watson!” Moriarty exclaimed, a happy, cruel grin upon his face. “So glad you could make it! Sherlock here was getting a tad boring, not answering any of my questions. I decided to take him on a little walk.”

                John narrowed his eyes. “A walk?” He spat, looking at Moriarty before looking back at Sherlock. It was painful to see his friend in such a state. “Bound and gagged, you took him on a _walk?_ ”

                Moriarty tilted his head and rolled his eyes. “Of course. Duh, he’s my captive. Keep up, Watson.” The tone of his voice made John cringe, his eyes gazing over every inch of Sherlock, looking for any sign of distress. Or, at least, more distress than he was in already.

                “I am. I’m here, aren’t I? I believe I’ve been keeping up fairly well.”

                Moriarty scoffed and shook his head, laughing slightly. John raised an eyebrow, looking back at the psychopath curiously.

                “What’s so funny?” The doctor inquired with a tilt of his head, narrowing his eyes. Sherlock was still on the ground, face turned towards Moriarty. John wanted to see his eyes but knew the circumstances were not adequate.

                His attention was turned back to Moriarty, who now had stepped forward only slightly and pulled a pistol from his coat pocket.

                “Nothing is _funny_ , Doctor.” The psychopath hissed, aiming the gun at Sherlock’s head. “I only find it amusing that you believe, that you _actually_ believe, you were clever enough to find him on your own. Do you really think that I’d have let you found us as easy as you did?” He made a tsk noise and shook his head. “Shame, Doctor Watson.”

                John let everything click into place. Moriarty had _wanted_ him to find them. Had wanted John to see Sherlock like this.

                See Sherlock as weak.

                But John knew better! Sherlock was one of the strongest people he had ever known. Surely he wouldn’t have let Moriarty get the best of him!

                And that was when John heard it. The sobbing. His eyes traveled back to Sherlock. Seeing the detective’s shoulders shaking, he knew something was terribly wrong.

                “What did you do to him?” John growled out, looking back at Moriarty with a cold stare. Moriarty smirked.

                “I just gave him encouragement to follow instructions.”

                Sherlock finally turned his head and John’s heart broke at seeing such a pained expression on the detective’s face. It was full of hurt and loss. John even saw a flash of concern, which angered him even more. Sherlock shouldn’t have been worried about John when they were in that situation.

                “Instructions for _what_?” John hissed, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. Moriarty let out another laugh, his aim shifting from Sherlock’s head to his chest. His next words shocked John.

                “Just you wait and see! Sherlock’s got a great big surprise for you!”

                John narrowed his eyes and looked at Moriarty with a deep frown. A surprise? The whole situation was a surprise to John! He had definitely not expected to find a ransom note at the flat, a missing Sherlock taken by Moriarty, and a game of cat-and-mouse with the psychopath.

                “What surprise? Answer me straight, Moriarty.” The irritation was evident in John’s tone of voice.

                “Absolutely! Let me explain. Sherlock here – Sherly, shame – agreed to put on a show for you!” His laugh rang through John’s head, causing a shiver to run down the doctor’s spine. “I gave him a choice. Your life, or his. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to play my little game at first.” Moriarty sighed slightly. “But after lots of convincing, he finally chose.” Moriarty grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up to his knees. He took the gag off, grinning like mad.

                John held his breath and looked at Sherlock with a pained expression. He knew what was coming next. Of course he knew.

                The gunshot rang out and John acted without thought, running to Moriarty and grabbing his arm, yanking and twisting until he heard a loud pop. Then he grabbed the gun and took a step back, aiming it at Moriarty’s head.

                John held the gun steady, glaring at Moriarty. His finger on the trigger, still pointed at the man, John quickly moved over to where Sherlock was laying, holding his chest and gasping for breath.

                “Sherlock. Sh-Sherlock.” John kneeled next to the detective, dropping the gun on the ground and moving Sherlock’s hands, replacing them with his own. “It’ll be okay Sherlock. W-we’ll get you to a hospital. Sherlock.”

                “J-John-“

                “Sherlock, please. D-don’t waste your energy. Just... hold on.” John grasped at his pocket with his right hand, searching for his cell phone. “Bloody hell. No, no, no.” He had left it at the flat!

                “J-ohn.” Sherlock rasped, wrapping his fingers around the doctor’s wrist. John turned his attention to Sherlock’s face, studying every piece of it he could.

                “Sherlock, please. Please, just hold on. J-just keep your eyes open. Okay? Keep them open dammit.”

                John could feel the slowing of Sherlock’s breaths, could feel the tremors running through the man’s body. He could hear the ragged breaths he took, along with the quiet whimpers of John’s name. John kept pressure against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Or, at least, slow it down.

                “J-John…” He could barely hear Sherlock’s words, they were so quiet. He could only make out the rasp of air he took in after. But then he said it again. “John… Hamish W-Watson.”

                Joh couldn’t help but laugh slightly and nod, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. He looked down at Sherlock with a sad smile.

                “I can’t believe you found my birth certificate.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

                “I-it wasn’t… wasn’t h-hard.” Sherlock tried for a small smile, but failed. John felt his heart ache at the scene, moving his wrist free from Sherlock’s grip so he could hold his hand.

                “Right. You have Mycroft as a brother.” John managed, swallowing down a lecture about digging into people’s past.

                “H-he… was very h-helpful.” Sherlock agreed, coughing slightly. John could see him flinch and he choked on a small sob. Sherlock noticed and lifted his eyes to meet John’s. “Th-there’s something… I n-need to tell you, John…”

                “Sherlock… please. S-someone must have heard the gunshots. Someone sh-should be coming. Please don’t waste your energy-“

                “John.” Sherlock said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Y-you know as w-well as I do… M-Moriarty chose a p-perfect place where n-no one would h-hear us.”

                “I –“John choked on another sob and nodded slightly. “I know… Sherlock… I’m so sorry. W-why… why did you let him…?”

                Sherlock swallowed thickly, letting his head rest against the ground as he struggled to breath. John watched and had to squeeze Sherlock’s hand to keep the detective from closing his eyes.

                “I… I c-couldn’t let him… John….” Sherlock gasped for a breath and a tremor ran through his body. “He w-would have k-killed you-“

                “That’s… Sherlock...” John shook his head and squeezed Sherlock’s hand again. “This is… the second time you’ve let him get to you… let him use you… Sherlock… why…?”

                Sherlock tried to speak, but was interrupted by a coughing fit wracking his whole body. John kept their hands intertwined, watching Sherlock with tears in his eyes.

                When it was done and over with, and the coughing had passed, Sherlock looked up at John again and smiled sadly. Sherlock reached his hand up to brush against John’s cheek, wiping away the tears that were there. His chest was rising and falling less and less. His breathing was becoming ragged, more so than before.

                “I-it’s because…” He started, his voice weak. His eyes started to drift close, and his chest fluttered, nearly stopping. John’s breathing hitched and he stared down at Sherlock with wide eyes. He couldn’t leave him yet. “B-because… J-John, I-I love y-you…”

                John’s heart shattered as he watched Sherlock’s eyes glass over and his body become slack. His hand fell limply, his chest stopped rising and falling. John swallowed, his eyes becoming blurry with tears once again.

                “Sherlock… Sherlock no… please…” John choked on a sob, holding Sherlock’s lifeless body in his arms. “Sherlock, please… please come back to me… please don’t leave me… y-you can’t leave me… please.”

                John kept muttering to Sherlock, trying to get him to wake up, and that was how Lestrade found him hours later, curled up around Sherlock’s cold, lifeless body. It took loads of goading and convincing until John finally gave up and let them take Sherlock’s body.

                So, two months later, after having watched Sherlock die in his arms, John stood at the edge of Sherlock’s grave with the skull from the flat.

                “Sherlock… I. I don’t know what to say anymore. I’ve come here so many times… I’ve said so much. It feels empty, the flat, without you there. Mrs. Hudson hasn’t stopped… crying. I can’t stay there anymore… not without you. I… Sherlock. I’m sorry. I know you’d want me to… to move on. But I just... I just can’t. That last thing you said to me… was that you love me. I haven’t been able to forget about it. I have… I have nightmares. I keep imagining… your death. Over and over... and it’s heartbreaking.” He took a deep shuddery breath, fingering the gun he had in his coat pocket. “Sherlock… I can’t live without you. Not like this. Not with… not with my heart aching to hold you again. I-I never even had the chance to say… say that I love you too.”

                Silence was his response. He didn’t expect anything less. He decided to leave it at that, taking the gun out of his pocket and closing his eyes.

                The gunshot rang out through the silence of the cemetery, along with the thud of John’s body hitting the dirt.

                The flat was always silent, except for the sounds of Mrs. Hudson’s sobbing for her two favorite men in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> And there's the conclusion. Did you sit on the edge of your seat at some point? I know I did when I was writing it xD  
> Ha. Anyways. Feedback is fuel, guys! Comment, leave kudos. Do what you will.


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